Bequest
by AngelsLame
Summary: Sometimes people know just what you need. A one-off written after The Body.


**Title: Bequest**

 **Author: AngelsLame**

 **Spoilers: Takes place after The Body**

 **Author's Note: Mom knew best**

 **Rating: K**

 **Disclaimer: Joss' blocks, my building.**

 **Feedback: As Audrey II says…Feed Me!**

* * *

Judge Elizabeth Goodwin stood up from the desk in her chambers. She smiled to herself and closed the file she'd been reviewing for the next hearing. She prided herself on her thoroughness and in the sea of paperwork her job had become, once in a while, there was still a glitch, a detail that only she would have caught.

Nearly six months ago papers had been filed in her court to finalize the estate of Ms. Joyce Summers. It was a typical estate, even boring by California standards; single mom with two surviving children, one an adult, another juvenile. The will had been recently revised prior to Ms. Summers' death, updated to show two changes; an official executor where none had been noted before, and another beneficiary. Nowhere as complex as those cases that won acclaim where there were several wives and step children. Still, she remembered the case because the executor had been so unfamiliar with California law that she had spent some time with him, outlining his duties. The man had intrigued her and today she was to meet with that executor again to close the case. That is, she would be doing so except for one thing.

The bailiff called the case and Judge Elizabeth Goodwin entered the courtroom. As the bailiff concluded his well-practiced speech, Judge Goodwin began speaking without missing a beat. "Mr. Giles. This hearing is to confirm your successful completion of the requirements put to you as executor of Ms. Joyce Ann Summers' last will and testament."

"Yes, My Lady." Giles stood nervously. The last time he had been in court he had been 17, far more confident, known by another name and far guiltier.

As the handsome Englishman stood before her, Judge Goodwin smiled, amused with herself at having found a flaw, at being able to take her time to instruct him of the mistake and to make him come back one last time. Some of her days were better than others. Giles saw the judge's smile and suddenly his shirt collar felt very tight. "Mr. Giles," Judge Goodwin began.

"Yes, My Lady," Giles responded again adjusting his glasses and the stacks of paper on the table in front of him.

"Mr. Giles, need I remind you that we are not in England. You will address me simply as Judge, Judge Goodwin, or Your Honor."

"Yes. Oh, yes. Forgive me My…Your Honor," Giles faltered.

The judge was as amused as she felt appropriate. Judge Goodwin looked at him for a moment and then began, "You were ordered by this court six months ago to make a conclusion of Ms. Summers' estate."

"Yes, Your Honor. I have done as you asked. I filed papers with you last week to confirm the payment of all liabilities and the dispersement of all assets to the appropriate beneficiaries."

"I've received your paperwork, Mr. Giles. It is all in order, save one thing." Giles flinched. He had hoped that with the courts' backlog and the innocuousness of this case, his one omission would pass unseen. "There are receipts from each of the creditors and beneficiaries in the form of canceled checks and receipts, except for the last one. The one that was added only two weeks before Ms. Summers' demise." The Judge looked up from her desktop and looked sternly at the Englishman. "Can you explain your failure to fulfill your duty, Mr. Giles?"

Giles looked at his shoes. "Your Honor, all I can say is that I believe that this final addition to Ms. Summers' will was ill conceived on her part. I knew her very well, as a friend of the family, and she must have been suffering a great deal, or under a good deal of duress at the time she wrote this request. I cannot believe that, if she had been in her right mind, she would have asked me to do what she outlined."

"Mr. Giles, please approach the bench." Giles moved to obey and promptly bumped his thigh into the table trying to make his way to the judge's platform. Judge Goodwin altered her voice and quietly continued. "Rupert, Ms. Summers made you the executor of her will at the same time as this final change. If she had failed to do so, her oldest daughter," the judge referred to the papers on her desktop briefly, "Buffy, in her time of loss would have been required to serve the duties to which you, as a friend, have so faithfully attended. I cannot believe that Ms. Summers did not foresee this too, as a healthy circumstance. Therefore, I believe, that Ms. Summers' was in full possession of her faculties and that her second request is also legitimate. You must, therefore complete this last duty before I can close this case. Unless you can give me a valid reason why you will not fulfill your friend's simple dying request..?"

"But My…Your Honor," Giles began but words failed him. "Your Honor, I just…," but the judge interrupted. The Judge smiled "Mr. Giles, you may step back. Giles returned to the table in the front of the court."

The judge resumed her regular court voice and pronounced, "Your reticence in fulfilling what you deem a questionable duty is duly noted, Mr. Giles, however, I am left with no alternative. The court finds that this case is still pending and orders Mr. Rupert Giles to complete the duties of his executorship and return proof of doing so to this court within forty-eight hours or else he will be held in contempt and subject to incarceration." She promptly sounded her gavel and stood up in an effort to forestall any further argument.

Still Giles sputtered, still trying to find words for his frustration as she stepped down from her desk. "But, Your Honor. You don't underst…."

Judge Goodwin stopped at floor level to address him. "Mr. Giles, all the court is demanding is that you do what your friend has asked of you. If you trusted your friend, why are you finding it so difficult to act as she asked?"

"It's not Ms. Summers' that I don't trust, so much as the beneficiary."

Softening only slightly, Judge Goodwin answered, "I am sorry, Rupert, this is not a matter for further discussion. I will see you in forty-eight hours." With that the probate judge exited the courtroom and closed the door to her chambers.

* * *

Giles thought about it for a full day but could find no alternative. So on the second night, with additional fortitude of the bourbon kind, he slipped an envelope into his pocket and walked out of his apartment to knock on a familiar door.

"Yeah, yeah. I hear ya." The steel door swung open. Both men were so startled at finding themselves face to face, neither could speak for a full minute. At last Spike managed to find words, "Well, Watcher. What brings you out on a fine night like tonight?" Giles pushed past the blonde vampire and made his way wordlessly into the crypt. As the older man passed him, Spike smelled the whiskey. "Feelin' a bit tight are we?" he taunted.

Giles rounded on him. He spoke carefully, "I'm not here to make a social call, Spike." He spat out the vampire's name with venom and despite himself, Spike felt hurt.

With all the animosity that had existed between them over the years, as their roles had changed, Spike had always hoped silently that there might be a friendship between the two men. Giles reminded him all too well of his English past and although his past was something that he had spent the last 120 years trying to outrun, lately he had become nostalgic about the quieter moments of his youth. Spike's time in the company of the older man's quiet dialect and refined manners had made the memories of his father and his grandfathers more real, more tangible to the vampire.

But spite was spite and Spike struck back, "Well, speak your piece then, old man."

Rupert glared at the vampire but kept calm. The last thing he wanted was for Spike to know how hard this was for him to do. Taking a deep breath, he began a well-rehearsed speech, "I am here, Spike, at the request of the probate court of the state of California, to deliver to you an inheritance left to you in the estate of Ms. Joyce Summers." He stopped and waited.

The mocking smile fell from Spike's face. Buffy's recent loss of her mom had been heartbreaking for him personally. True, he had worried about Buffy, knowing how deeply the loss would affect her, and although he didn't care too much for them individually right now, he was glad that the other Scoobies were there for her when he had been shut out and his own sympathy was unwelcome. But he had honestly loved the woman too. Just as Rupert had taken on the role of a father figure to him, Joyce had been his new mother.

What had started off as a relationship wherein Joyce let an axe speak for her, had ended up in an amazingly unexpected friendship with shared interests in art, pop culture, cocoa and Buffy. As a friend, she had listened to him when he spoke of his feelings for Buffy, and once he had found a sympathetic ear, he had done so often. She had even promised to speak to Buffy on his behalf after he had admitted his feelings to her at last. He had often wondered if Joyce had ever said anything.

He had once thought himself impervious to pain but her loss had taught him otherwise. He had mourned her passing as he had none before, falling into a deep depression and drinking for days to numb the agony. In a clear moment he had thought to take flowers to her house, but had been forced to deal with Xander and nearly finished him on Buffy's front lawn. More Jack Daniels had calmed him down and helped him sleep off his anger. Once his stupor retreated, Spike had spent time clearing his head and determined to be an honorable vampire, if ever Buffy came looking for one. Now, his newly healed wounds were being prodded and he wasn't sure why. He tried to say something witty, to hide his emotion, but only managed, "Joyce?"

Giles nodded. Interested now in what the Watcher had to say, Spike offered the other man a place to sit and, thinking caffeine a better choice than tea, given the circumstances, went to make coffee.

Distantly aware that Spike was fussing over him, Giles deliberately chose to not think about it just now. Soon he was presented with a steaming mug of caffeine.

"Drink up, Watcher," he urged. Raising his own cup, Spike stepped back and leaned against the cold wall of the crypt.

Sitting up slightly, Giles sipped the hot liquid slowly, forestalling conversation. "Thank you, Spike."

Spike nodded and looked into his own mug. It occurred to him that he'd never have imagined sharing a cup of coffee with a Watcher just a few years ago and he considered how Dru or Harm or any of the 'friends' he'd had in his old life would laugh to see him now. Since Buffy had had the witches do the spell to keep him out of her house, away from her, he wondered about it a lot lately; what he'd given up and what he'd gotten. Current thinking was that the chip the Initiative had put in his head had forced him to face the fact that his life wasn't dictated by anyone other than himself.

Sure, at first he'd railed against the chip, thinking of himself only as an aberration not even worth Buffy's time to stake, a feeling she sometimes traded on and often produced in order to hurt or use him. But with the passage of time, his new world expanded beyond the limits of his old, and he began to accept and even welcome the challenges of being a decent vampire. The first outward sign of this had been his unexpected and overwhelming obsession with Buffy who was not only beautiful but, to his subconscious mind, an ideal of decency and power. He was drawn to her not only as a man, but as a pupil, studying her interaction with friends, family, and home. He'd been mesmerized in her presence by the emotions he found surprisingly within himself, emotions he believed long dead. Most recently, he had started to weigh the possibility of exchanging the remnants of his bloodlust for another kind of longing, one that was calling him seek his humanity.

Giles continued to drink his coffee as Spike remained silent. When the hot liquid had cleared his head, older man set down the coffee mug and coughed uneasily. Giles had considered what he had to say very carefully, but his silent companion's watchful eyes were making it more difficult. Nervously he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. With a deep breath he reset the glasses on his face and began, "Spike, I hate you."

"No kiddin'?" Spike almost laughed.

"No, no kidding at all. I really do. I cannot now, or probably ever find it within me to forgive you. Ever. The things I know you have done in the past are…well, unforgivable."

Raising his eyes with as much conviction as he could muster, to meet what he supposed would be a smug grin from an unrepentant enemy, Giles was surprised to see pain in blue eyes that met his glare with an unexpected honesty. Looking away quickly to hide his surprise, Giles fumbled for words, "But, well…," he coughed again and hesitated.

Spike spoke softly, he didn't want to spar with this man, not when the subject of discussion was Joyce. "S' alright. So far, we're on the same page. What I did back in the day…well, unforgivable is right. Did you come here just to point out the obvious?"

"Uh, no." Giles stumbled for words. "But, well, it seems that for whatever reason the women I most care for in this life feel differently than I on the subject of…you."

After another uncomfortable silence, Spike spoke, "I 'spect that's more cuz those women are damn amazin', more than anythin' else."

"Right," Rupert found himself in agreement with Spike again. "Well…," the Watcher shook his head and reached into his pocket for the envelope. "As you know, I was appointed executor of Joyce's will. Everything's been done except for one last bequest to administer."

Spike looked at Giles over the rim of his mug. He'd been half listening until he realized what the other man was trying to avoid. His eyebrows rose in surprise, "Joyce left something to me?"

Giles handed Spike the envelope reluctantly. "As I said, the women I care for can be more sentimental than wise. Joyce was no exception. This is what she left behind for you."

Spike set aside his drink and took the envelope almost reverently. On the front, in Joyce's clear, artistic script she'd written his name. He ran his fingers over the ink. Being near her again like this made him wish he'd spent more time with her when he could. She'd been a friend when no one else in town would speak to him, even her daughter. They had shared so many conversational moments at thresholds, in in crypt, in the Summers' kitchen. He smiled at the memory of their first meeting, and how since then she had accepted him unquestioningly. Now, looking at the envelope, he regretted never having told her his real name.

He looked at Giles, who was still looking away and drew in a fortifying, if unnecessary, breath. Flipping the envelope over, he slipped his finger under the seal and opened the envelope slowly, withdrawing two pages of fine stationary covered with Joyce's last words to him. He swallowed hard as her memory threatened to overtake him, and then he read:

 _Dear Spike,_

 _The other day the doctors suggested to me that I put my "affairs in order". What they were saying, in their own way, was that I was facing death. I must say that those books have everything right, you go through all of the stages, anger, denial…you know. Still, in the end you…well, most of us have to face our mortality and that's scary. But good too, because it makes you realize that it's not the things you've accumulated in your life, but the lives we've touched and the lives that have touched us that make up our existence._

 _I started making a list of people who I wanted to leave with a part of me, who I wanted to recognize as having been a part of who I was. Isn't it strange, Spike, that you were on that list? But not so strange either. I like to think that we were friends, after all was said and done. So the next question is what can I possibly leave a man like you? Who could have anything, yet finds his joy in battle, in blood and in hot cocoa with marshmallows._

 _I've thought about it a lot and as Rupert doubtless told you, I've found, I think, the perfect solution. Spike, (this is the official part) I bequeath you a perpetual invitation into 1930 Rovello Drive, my home. I know that Buffy has currently revoked your invitation and I respect that, but it is, after all, my home and mine to do with as I wish. Rupert assures me that this is enough and that putting this invitation in writing will seal the deal._

Spike's legs suddenly felt weak and he was glad he was sitting down. He raised his head and found that the Watcher looking at him again. He tried to meet his gaze levelly, without expression, then turned back to the letter and read on.

 _So now that you are welcome back under my roof, I wonder what you'll do. I suppose you'll want to come around and bother Buffy, but I would advise against that. She'll only push you away. I've tried to speak with her on your behalf and she's still so angry she can't see what is obvious to all of the rest of us; that you love each other._

 _With this invitation, there are two other precious gifts I want to give you. First I leave you Dawn. Dawn to watch over, to tease, to be the little sister you didn't have, and for you to be the big brother that she's longed for, for you to protect and watch grow up into the beautiful woman she will be._

 _And Spike, I give you Buffy, to love, to cherish, to go to war with, against and for. Although she's "the Slayer", she is still so young and horribly stubborn. She sometimes makes hasty and foolish decisions, believing she can trust her head and not listen to her heart. So, watch over her too, and when your patience, good humor and loyalty finally outlast my oldest daughter's pig-headedness (as I know it will), remember that in this letter I left you both one last thing; my blessing. May the two of you finally find peace, happiness and the fairy-tale ending you both deserve. Farewell._

 _Your friend,_

 _Joyce_

At the bottom of the letter was a notary's emblem, dated and signed, making everything legal and official. Spike reread the letter two more times and then, clearing his throat, he spoke softly, not sure he could trust his voice. "Quite a woman, that."

"Yes," Rupert stared at his coffee and replied just as softly, "Quite".

They sat in silence for a while as Spike considered Joyce's letter and what it meant. An open door to the Summers' home. An always welcoming threshold, a place to belong, a family to belong to. The thought of him having such a thing was so remote, being the recipient of it was incomprehensible to him. It made him feel…respectable.

And for Joyce to have given him her daughters to protect, to nurture and to love…to have his own commitment to them recognized, affirmed…and blessed by their mum. In his entire life before or after Dru, he had never been given anything more valuable or more precious. Joyce's trust humbled him and lifted him up at the same time. How would he ever…? Could he ever…? He was overwhelmed.

So the Watcher wouldn't see the emotions that surely played across his features, Spike stood up, folded the letter gently, put it back in the envelope, and took a few strides across the crypt toward the small desk he kept in deference to his writer's past. He carefully put the note in a small drawer and stood there until he could trust himself to speak.

At last, he turned and said, "Well, Watcher. I'm guessin' you knew what was in there or you wouldn't have had to get pissed before bringin' it to me."

Giles stood up to face Spike. The older man wanted to get the gloating, the sly winks, the innuendo, the threats, and arguments over with. The coffee had helped him steel himself for this encounter in which he would tell the vampire that although the door may be open, the Watcher was still on guard and not beneath staking blonde blood-sucking monsters if necessary. He summoned his best authoritarian voice and began, "A will is all very well and good…," but never finished.

Spike cut him off with his own words. With a bravado he did not feel, he began, "Nice as it was, this piece of paper doesn't really change anythin'. I'm not sayin' that it isn't temptin', but if I walked back into the house waving this letter 'round, Buffy would stake me good and proper, blessing or not." He paused as new thoughts came to him, "'I won't go back into the house anyway, not until Buffy asks me anyway. And as for her and li'l bit, I already feel responsible for them." His shoulders sagged as he realized that Joyce's letter wouldn't make any difference until he could show it to someone and that that day might never come.

Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his nose, trying to wrap his head around a new reality in light of everything he had just seen and heard. Time to be honest. "Joyce spoke to me about this before granting you this request, well, she told you that in the letter, and I insisted that you would take advantage of it, you would exploit her misguided faith in you to your own purposes. I told her I didn't trust you, never have and probably never would, but Joyce insisted she was right about you. And she would have her way." He thought back to the discussion they'd had just after Joyce's operation. The doctors were hopeful but Joyce was determined to tie up any loose ends in her life. She regretted not having done something for her vampire friend before she left for the hospital and now, given this second opportunity, she was adamant about acknowledging her belief in Spike in writing. Giles had argued with equal determination until she had turned her big, hope filled eyes up at him. Well, it hadn't been a very long argument. He formulated his next words to address not to his former foe, but to the man Joyce had cared for. "I am willing to concede, Spike, that Joyce knew your feelings and wanted to tell you she deemed you worthy of her trust, of her home, of her family. Worthy in spite of who you are or what you were. And, if she thought such a future possible...why shouldn't I. Why shouldn't you?"

Spike considered Giles' words. If Joyce could accept, welcome and even bless such a vision. It might just be possible. He stood tall again and with a half smile and genuine gratitude he admitted, "Well, that was kind of her."

Rupert looked at the man across from him and saw that this had been the right thing to do. Spike wore a new sense of gravitas, of dignity, of responsibility. Of course. Joyce had been right all along. Spike had accepted her gifts like a…man. Recognizing the simple truth standing before him, Giles acquiesced and held out his hand, "Well, that's it."

After a moment of surprise, Spike took the other man's hand and shook it firmly. It signaled, they both knew, a new beginning. "Right then. Thank you, Rupert." Spike tested the man's name out warily.

The use of his first name was not lost on the Watcher. He looked long a hard at Spike then decided to weigh in with Joyce and trust…for now. He turned for the door. "Oh, and one last thing," he winced, remembering. He fumbled through his pockets and came out with another piece of paper. "I need you to sign this receipt saying I delivered Joyce's letter to you. The probate judge is very…exacting."

FIN


End file.
